F: The nosy choirmaster chased out of the way, Claude Frollo and his dancing girl could discreetly return to the Palace of Justice. "Our stories will match when we are interrogated tomorrow," he reiterated. "Recite your part to me once more."
"You offered me a job as a spy," E rattled off. "I accepted. I worked for you only a few days before my people found me out and disowned me. You, in your great compassion for your fellow human beings—" Esmerelda rolled her eyes, at which Claude scowled but did not speak—"took me in and cared for me after my excommunication."
"Well done." The judge kept his voice level.
"Anything I'm forgetting, Claude?" she prodded. Surely, she only wanted to ensure that she remembered all of the details correctly, but the sound of his first name gave the judge a cold chill.
"Yes." The word snapped from his lips in irritation. "You are forgetting that you will address me as Minister Frollo. You will give King Louis no indication whatsoever that our relationship with each other is anything more than a business contact."
"Yes, Your Honor." Her body language betrayed annoyance at being given orders, but she made no verbal protest.
"Excellent."
They rode back to the palace on Snowball. Many a head turned to watch them, but not a mouth opened. The judge saw no reason to address them, to give some sort of explanation for his actions. Tomorrow's court records would show that Claude Frollo had explained that Esmerelda Trollifeau had worked for him as a spy, been found out by her people, and then been rescued by the judge. (He was a righteous man, after all, and the common folk who actually obeyed him deserved some form of compensation for their good behavior.)
True, he had kept Esmerelda for longer than may have seemed necessary, but even that was all part of the plan. He had cleverly been using Esmerelda as bait, bait to trap Clopin the kingpin of their little crime ring. And it had worked!
In truth, Clopin's arrival had been a lucky accident, but there was no need for King Louis to know that. Ever the master card-player, Frollo had spent years honing his ability to play whatever hand he was dealt. The gypsy leader made a very nice card, indeed.
When they made it to the Palace, Claude had Esmerelda dismount Snowball first. Snowball was almost as finicky as his master; the horse could easily have decided to throw the girl from his back. Claude was the only human that Snowball would consistently obey.
The judge walked Esmerelda through the stifling stone hallways to a guest bedroom, remaining calm and collected as the guards watched curiously. She was his employee, after all; why should he be afraid to be seen with her?
E: The guest bedroom, albeit not as luxurious as the judge's room, was still very comfortable. The tired girl fell asleep almost immediately.
Some hours later, she was awakened by a key in the lock and the creaking of door hinges. Why in Heaven's name was her sleep being disturbed at this ungodly hour? Grumbling, she forced herself awake. What had gone wrong, was it a guard coming in to bother her…
The intruder gently pulled the door closed. Esmerelda was afraid to move, afraid to make this stranger aware that she was in the room.
"I couldn't sleep. I must be more worried about tomorrow's hearing than I realized." The minister's tone was almost apologetic.
And how is that my problem? She wisely bit back the stinging retort.
"Esmerelda, please don't be angry with me for waking you. I am your protector, I promise you that I will not allow you to be hurt as a result of my actions." Long, pale fingers gently stroked her cheek.
E was still somewhat annoyed at being awakened, but could not be angry with the gentle, caring man sitting on her bed beside her. Smirking, she remarked, "I suppose you're too righteous for that?"
"Why, Esmerelda, you know me better than anyone." His eyes mirrored the soft smile in her emerald ones. "How could you think me anything but righteous?"
"Hmm, let me think." With an exaggerated gesture, she crossed her legs and rested her chin on her knuckles. "You locked the archdeacon in the broom closet…"
"Locking people up is my profession," Claude intoned loftily, lifting a hand overdramatically.
"You stabbed your captain," she continued.
"For you, dear," he clarified, gently lifting her chin. "Some people…are worth breaking rules."
"Coming from you, that's a compliment of the highest degree." Before he could stammer out a reply, she kissed him.
His stunned surprise lasted for about a second, then his fingers grabbed her hair, pulling her into himself with a dedicated fierceness. He bent over her, pressing her back into the mattress, his tongue stroking hers. Shivers of delight raced over her, her irritation forgotten.
He untangled his mouth from hers so that he could speak. "I love you," he whispered huskily. "I promise you that I will come back for you after I straighten out this mess." He paused to take a breath. "I need to feel your warmth, hear your voice…and watch you dance."
"Dance," she echoed. This entire situation had begun with a dance. She'd danced in front of him, mercilessly poking fun at him, at the Festival of Fools. She'd been dancing at the Boar's Head when he'd shown up, and she'd scolded him for missing her performance, and he'd extended the fateful invitation for her to come perform in the Palace of Justice.
And she'd danced at the palace for him. And he'd grabbed her, moving together with her, culminating in a wild, passionate end that both of them knew was a terrible decision but happily went through with it anyway.
The wildest things can happen when you dance.
"You're always telling me how much you enjoy watching me dance, but I wonder…" Esmerelda paused, his eyes on her, "…how would you like to dance with me?"
He blinked, and a smile followed. "I would love to." One hand clasped hers and the other dropped gently to the small of her back, pulling her to her feet.
The minister was so tall that Esmerelda had to tiptoe and he had to bend over. Their cheeks brushed, his lips almost touching her ear.
"Wise men say only fools rush in…" His words were so soft that he would never be heard outside of the room.
"But I can't help falling in love with you." Frollo's warm breath tickled her ear. She closed her eyes, rendered completely helpless by his voice.
"Shall I stay? Would it be a sin…" The minister's soft baritone floated seamlessly from his lips to her ear, his voice pouring into her like wine into a glass. Bronze hands gripped his robes more tightly as the dancing girl's knees buckled under his overpowering serenade.
"If I can't help falling in love with you?" He held her so closely that his lips actually brushed her tragus, his touch coaxing an uncontrollable shaking from her delicate form.
"Like a river flows…surely to the sea…" Gently, he guided her back to the bed. Her knees were weak, she held to him for support.
"Darling, so it goes…some things are meant to be." She sank to the mattress gratefully as soon as they were close enough.
"Take my hand. Take my whole life, too." He leaned back to look directly into her eyes, cradling her in his arms. "For I can't help…" his face dipped closer to hers, they both closed their eyes "…falling in love…" she twitched involuntarily when his nose brushed over hers, his hot breath tangible against her face "…with you." His lips grazed over hers with the last two words. Fiercely, passionately, she kissed him, gripping at him more tightly.
Without breaking the kiss, he bent over her, pushing her into the mattress. His heated lips trailed back along her jawline, behind her ear, along her hairline right above the nape of her neck. Subconsciously, Esmeralda allowed her head to turn to the side, letting him nibble at the soft, fine hair that lay hidden beneath her voluminous ebony tresses. As he continued down the curve of her neck, she shivered and moaned out, begging for more.
Teeth grazed her clavicle, drawing another moan from her red lips. Pale hands gently pulled down her nightgown so he could ravish her further. Squirming and trembling, her hands slid through his silky gray hair, finally pulling his head to her chest, his flushed and heated skin so soft against hers. Her heart beat so violently, his head must be reverberating from the throbbing.
Tingling kisses trailed down the valley between her breasts. Hands picked up where lips left off, gently slipping down her middle. He paused a finger right above her pubic hair, and looked up to catch her eyes. The tilt of his head and the teasing smile twitching at the corner of his mouth said, Darling, aren't you going to ask me to keep going?
Yes, but not quite yet. "It's only fair if I help you undress, too," Esmeralda murmured. Sitting back up on the bed, she reached for his silk pajamas. The touch of the delicate fabric that pooled in her hands like water was sharply contrasted by the cold, hard, smooth buttons. Smiling, he relaxed under her touch, stretching out on the mattress like a dog who wanted its belly rubbed some more.
Esmeralda's hands slipped down his bare chest, taking in every contour as water settles into every dip and crevice in the surface onto which it has been poured. Though no longer a surprise to her, the notable resistance of his body to general wear and tear constantly reminded Esmeralda of the socioeconomic gap that yawned wide between them. Not only did Claude have the sense to not ruin his health by smoking opium or drinking heavily or contracting diseases from prostitutes, but he had access to basic necessities which too many of her family lacked. Claude had no need to resort to lapping dirty water from the ground to quench a fiery thirst, or eating nearly-unrecognizable things from a garbage pile when there was no other food to be had. No long years of grueling, dangerous manual labor had smashed his hands and fingers, or broken his back. He could access a physician if he became ill; he would not go cold and hungry if he took a few days off of work to recover.
Small wonder that the man was in better shape than most gypsy men who were half his age.
"Enjoying the view?" His voice swirled through her musings.
Giggling, she slid her hands back upwards, finally resting right over his nipples, as she bent her face down close to his own. "Oh, honey," she sighed softly. "I was just thinking…any gypsy man who even survived to be sixty-two would be a dilapidated shell. I have seen too many people die from illness who could not afford medicine, people crippled by injuries they received from doing manual labor just to earn money to eat. People who could never work anything but dangerous manual labor because they never had an opportunity to get an education! If I hadn't been determined enough to teach myself, I would have never learned how to read or write."
"But you did learn. And I must say that I admire you for that." His fingers reached up to slip through her hair, sweeping that black veil over both of their faces.
"Oh, it was a useful skill indeed." Esmeralda giggled. "I taught Djali to spell out words with my wooden blocks with letters on them. Cute trick, and it also kept your guards from arresting me more than once. I taught her how to spell 'Phoebus', and suddenly I had a free pass!...oh, don't frown at me just because I said his name. You know I only cozied up to him to keep him from locking me up!"
Claude blinked at her and turned his head slightly. Though he had not spoken, Esmeralda was quickly learning to read the cryptic man's body language. "Don't worry, I haven't done that to you," she grinned. "Nobody would suck up to you to get out of trouble; they'd find the dungeons much easier to tolerate."
"What?" A laugh almost fell from his sonorous voice.
"Because all of the rest of the women in Paris aren't as smart as me, and they don't realize that putting up with you is genuinely worth it." She kissed him firmly on the lips. Almost immediately he responded, arms wrapping around her, nearly crushing her in his eagerness. Tongues tangled in a heated lake of saliva as their mouths settled into a rhythm, sharing their heavy breaths.
He whined in protest when she broke the kiss, but growled in appreciation as her hot lips trailed down his neck, teeth gently playing with his pale skin. "And to think I was worried that you wanted to talk all night," he murmured, voice thick with arousal.
Esmeralda merely giggled in response as she nuzzled her face to his thin, hard chest, tongue leaving wet rings around both of his nipples. His body reacted instinctively to her touch, pressing desperately against her stomach despite the cursed fabric wall between them.
Grinning at the knowledge that she was driving him to the brink of insanity, she gently licked a wet trail down the crease that divided his tight abdominal wall. His chest rose and fell in an erratic, gasping rhythm as he shivered beneath her. Esmeralda's mouth was about to his navel when his hands fiercely grabbed her shoulders, yanking her face back up to his, before rolling her onto her back.
He ripped off the remaining pajamas and jumped up on top of her; she shivered at the electrifying sensation of his slick, heated skin pressing against her own. Her name fell from his lips, a guttural moan. She bucked and writhed against him as he pushed harder, twisting in sync with him.
If it were in any way humanly possible, Claude would have stuffed his entire body inside of her. The fact that this feat was unachievable did not stop him from trying. Esmeralda instinctively synchronized with his bucking and rocking, throwing her entire heart and soul into every movement. Never mind how badly this was going to hurt in the morning; heaven only knew how much time would have to pass before they could spend another night in each other's arms.
Sheer exhaustion eventually overcame them both. Esmeralda lay slumped on the bed, goosebumps prickling her shivering skin. Several minutes ago, she hardly even noticed the sweat dripping from her like a mighty tree shedding water after a heavy rain. Now, every droplet of water seared her skin like a shard of ice.
She burrowed closer to the minister as he gently tucked the bedsheets up over her shoulders. His arms encircled her; her head nestled up against his chest, listening to the soothing rhythm of his heartbeat. Esmeralda tossed an arm across his neck and hooked the back of her knee around his. The gentle press of his lips against the crown of her head was the last sensation she felt before she drifted off to sleep.
F: Rays of sunlight stabbed through his closed eyelids like sharpened daggers. Unwillingly, the judge forced himself awake. At first, he did not recognize his surroundings; then, he remembered the chain of events from the previous night. He'd paced his bedroom floor, anxiety keeping his eyes wide open, until he eventually admitted defeat and sought solace from his beautiful dancing girl.
Irony of ironies, the entire cause of his current predicament was his affection for said dancing girl.
Claude had learned long ago that life was cruel and unfair, but the poisoned gift of true love after sixty-two years of waiting—forbidden true love which could end in nothing save the utter destruction of them both—was a torture of the vilest degree.
Mentally he derided himself for bringing this trouble upon such a young girl. He fully knew that Esmerelda would be forcibly deported from France after today's court hearing—whether King Louis would force Claude Frollo's hand, or whether the king would fire his Minister of Justice and carry out the sentence personally, remained to be seen.
Where would she go? What would she do? Her clan would never take her back, not after she slept with their hated oppressor. She would be homeless, penniless, and alone.
Claude could not, would not, coldly abandon her to such a fate. At the very least, he owed it to her, in reparation for the strife he had given her to shoulder. The Minister of Justice was a righteous man who paid his debts.
"Your Majesty, every fiber of my being exists for the sole purpose of serving you as your noble arbitrator of justice." Claude distinctly heard a derisive snort, and almost made the fatal mistake of spinning around to verbally abuse and impose fines upon the worthless idiot for being in contempt of court. Sancta Maria Mater Dei, Claude did not like this situation at all. He belonged in the big chair behind the table, not in the defendant's seat!
True to his nature, Claude had prepared carefully for this day he had been dreading. Everything had been expertly planned; everything from a clandestine and thorough analysis of who knew what (and subsequent articulation of his defense), to the clothing that he and Esmeralda were wearing. An inattentive viewer could easily have mistaken the immigrant girl for the daughter of an upperclassman. Her short gypsy dress had been replaced with a floor-length gown, her silken hair temporarily restrained under the veil of a proper lady. Her white face makeup was in accordance with the latest fashion, and provided a bonus feature of leaving her ethnicity more open to speculation. She was the picture of a respected woman; the Boar's Head patrons would scarcely recognize her as the same person who provided their evening entertainment. For today she was the valuable employee of a respected public servant, not some flashy display.
He had traded his usual extravagant finery for a plain black cassock. Today he was a humble servant of the king, not some powerful official throwing his weight around. (Well, he was a powerful official who liked throwing his weight around, but he had the common sense to restrain himself when in the company of a higher-ranking figure.)
Everything needed to align perfectly today. With his usual attention to detail, he had even managed to downplay last night's tryst as this morning's brief meeting before the court hearing. Frollo was an organized man whose guards worked regular shifts; the minister was careful to ensure that the night guards had already left their posts before he emerged from her bedroom that morning. The first shift workers would naturally assume that Frollo stepped in the room minutes before the shift changed, especially since the minister was wearing a spare set of clothes that hung in the bedroom closet. (His pajamas were stuffed under the mattress, just in case anyone had happened to take a good look inside of the room.)
All that remained now was to survive these next few hours. "In my tireless pursuit to cleanse Paris of all crime, I enlisted the aid of a double agent, Esmerelda Trouillefou," he continued. "She served me valiantly, to the point she was cast out by her own people!" Claude made a fist, emotion seeping through his voice. It was of utmost importance that his defense cast no blame on Esmerelda; King Louis could elect to order her execution as easily as her relocation.
"But I am a righteous man, Your Majesty." Claude pointedly ignored another snort. "I found her while doing my duty on patrol. As her people had cruelly beaten her, on my behalf, my conscience would allow me to do no less than—"
"Enough of these flamboyant words of your own praise," King Louis interrupted him. The monarch cleared his throat and sat up a little straighter. "Claude Frollo, is it true that you have been sleeping with this—this Esmerelda?"
"Absolutely not, Your Majesty." Claude had devoted numerous hours of practice to the confident delivery of said lie. "I am a celibate man. I made my decision many years ago; I swore my oath after my eighty-seventh child custody case. A horrible court battle it was." Claude's face took on its mask of practiced disgust. "Your Majesty, I promise you that every divorce I settle reinforces in my sinless heart my desire not to entangle myself in the snares of—"
"I am fully aware of your spotless nature, Claude Frollo." Irritation laced the king's tone. "You need not continue to remind me."
"But of course, Your Majesty." Claude sat back in his chair, the epitome of submissive obedience.
Numerous witnesses were brought forward; Claude defended himself with a cool "Your Majesty, it baffles the simple minds of these common folk that there could exist a politician without stain; therefore, they invent falsehoods about me so as to—"
"You are not being paid by the word, Claude. I tire of your eloquence." King Louis exhaled noisily.
So far, matters were proceeding acceptably. No solid evidence had been brought against him. Fortunately for Frollo, the Archdeacon was the only witness to both Notre Dame scenarios; it was one man's word against another.
Claude Frollo needed every last shred of willpower to remain calm while Esmerelda was questioned. The prosecution kept prodding her; she flatly denied everything. "He is my employer," she shrugged. "Ask any of the palace guards."
"I believe you when you said that he employed you." The prosecuting attorney leaned closer. "However, we do have records on file for Claude Frollo. He has been known to abuse his position…" Claude choked down a retort under the prosecuting attorney's glare "…though I am quite aware that he has used his knowledge of the court system to wriggle his way out in every single instance." The lawyer looked back to the girl before catching the minister's eyes again. "But I must say, it appears that Minister Frollo has outdone himself this time."
Sancta Maria Mater Dei, Claude Frollo hated lawyers.
"Did Frollo, at any time, use his status to take advantage of you?"
"No." The word was clipped but distinct.
"Mademoiselle Trouillefou, you need not fear retribution for your testimony," the prosecution prodded gently. "If Frollo has been abusing you, King Louis will find a new Minister of Justice. Frollo will not be able to hurt you."
"Frollo hasn't hurt me." She took a deep breath, her green eyes fixed unwaveringly on the lawyer.
Frollo's face remained emotionless, but inside he wilted in relief. He mused, not for the first time, why he was generally believed to be cunning and cruel and horrid. Cunning, yes; cunning enough to know how to convince people that they wanted to cooperate.
As the minister had prayed and begged and pleaded for the past weeks, King Louis decided that his public servant had done nothing to warrant removal from office. After all, Frollo did his job quite well—crime in Paris had plummeted under his iron rule—and a judge of his caliber would not be easily replaced. King Louis had clearly realized that finding a suitable replacement was not worth the effort in this instance.
Of course, King Louis expected that Frollo would do his job and have Esmerelda and Clopin deported, as both were illegal immigrants. Intercession on Esmerelda's behalf would only serve to cast suspicion on the minister's motives, so he made no protest.
Clopin was bound and forcibly carried away by palace guards, but Esmerelda deserved better treatment. Upstairs in the guest room, the minister had a quick conversation with her before she had to leave.
"I heard that I'm being shipped to Germany," Esmerelda deadpanned. "I have no citizenship there either."
"You will be as safe in Germany as you would be anywhere. I happen to have a few contacts." He slipped an engraved ring from his finger. "This is my seal. The captain of the border guards knows me; he will recognize the ring."
"Good. Will he assume that I cut off your finger to steal it?"
"Of course not. The border guards know that anybody who cut off my finger would not live long enough to reach Germany." Claude allowed a smile to spread across his face.
Esmerelda returned the smile, still anxious.
"Take this. Consider it my buy-out of your public performances." The judge handed her a sack of money. "Remember, you will only perform your seductive dancing for me."
"You're confident," she replied uncertainly. "You're sure that I will ever be able to dance for you again?"
"Absolutely." He clasped her delicate hand in his own. "You leave me with no choice, my love; I will come back for you, for I cannot live without you. You have my word."
One final good-bye kiss, and Esmerelda Trouillefeau left the room to be escorted by palace guards to Germany…
